


Brittle And Brief

by Ruiniel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, Beleriand, Dorthonion, Edain, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Elves, Elves and Men, F/M, Falling In Love, First Age, First Kiss, First Love, Gen, Interspecies Romance, Laws and Customs Among the Eldar Compliant, Love, Love Confessions, Middle Earth, Romance, Star-crossed, first age arda, mortal vs immortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21817009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruiniel/pseuds/Ruiniel
Summary: Oneshot of Aegnor and Andreth by the shore of the Aeluin. AU-ish---DISCLAIMER: This fan fiction is intended for personal, non-commercial use only. No copyright infringement is intended.
Relationships: Aegnor | Ambaráto/Andreth | Saelind
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	Brittle And Brief

**Author's Note:**

> I chose to use the Sindarin forms for proper names in this fan fiction.

Shadow descended upon the highlands of Dorthonion and the host dwelling in the foothills. The night provided no respite from their watch upon the iron land of their foe, now shrouded in mist and raging fumes.

Journeying from Nargothrond where his rule stood, Finrod Felagund had come to meet his kin. The Siege was long begun. Now, steady of foot, he went to the main tent risen in the war camp to hold council. He shook his head upon seeing that light still burned within its confines.

"It is late," he greeted after entering the wide space. The chill wind breathed through the flaps at the entrance.

Another Elf stood there before a large table, pouring over scrolls of reports and maps. "Morgoth never rests," came the reply, his eyes still on the writings, palms spread flat on the table. His brow was furrowed in thought, his mouth a thin line. His hair of rich gold flame tumbled past his shoulders as he leaned in, his face partly shadowed in the candlelight.

Finrod saw his mind was afire, feverish in seeking how to better assess the movement of Angband. "Aye, and we need not be like he," he replied, a hand on the other's shoulder. He gripped lightly. "Go, and rest, I have my reports to sift through either way, and I long for the peace of it."

His brother Aegnor sighed through his nose, righting himself from the table. "We set to leave before sunrise," he abandoned his place, his face wary, as though reluctant to meet the night outside. He stepped closer to the entrance and gazed at Finrod. "You would do well to heed your own advice, brother," he said with a faint smile, and an incline of the head was their farewell for the night.

As his figure emerged and was swallowed by the night, steady steps followed the known path to his tent. Tangled in thought, he still discerned movement ahead.

His feet wavered in their steps. Ahead, taking to the lake, was one he would know in the dimmest darkness of Morgoth's dungeons. His face took a pained hue as the Elf looked to her retreat. Many nights she had been doing this. Why for, Aegnor knew not, for he had never asked. Perhaps she went to muse on whatever wisdom her kin held dear.

Longing, he came to know. Beleriand had changed his kin, had changed them all. None remembered the careless beings once running through vineyards in bloom under golden light. Here was death, pain, loss. Here were the Secondborn, and Morgoth ruled the land.

And here he found _her._

All those times she braved the night the Elf would follow. She knew, but never called to him and he would keep his distance, watchful of peril late until she retired. A distance away, an ocean apart. Aegnor would wish for many things during those lonesome hours until he could stand no more, and not few were the times he nearly betrayed himself. And his struggle must have reached even her, for upon her return the woman always passed by him, her face lined with both new and drying tears.

And now, despite the lateness of the hour and his mind urging the opposite, Aegnor followed. He knew his folly, but the moment her face swayed before him in dark waters, all hope and reason left him, and the Elf knew he was lost.

He ceased by a tree, his hand on the harsh bark. The young woman neared the lakeshore, her arms around herself, her figure barely visible in the gloom. He watched the tall trees fringing the lake, then sought the heather hills rolling around its clear eye. His thoughts would ebb and flow, then return to her. And the Elf had never seen her look his way. Not for a moment, not for a breath; and he had no hope or wish for her to do so now.

Time passed, and the stars shone their distant light, and waters rippled in their stillness. Then, with both joy and black dread, he saw her hair swaying in the night wind as Andreth turned her head. Over her shoulder she looked, and though his sight was beyond compare and his senses sharp, the Elf could not see if she sought him or no. But she must have, and guilty hope teemed in his chest.

The mortal gazed back to the lake.

Stillness returned, but now it would not serve. His eyes were dark as the Elf wondered if she had always waited there, hoping he would come? With a barely contained tremor, his body not his own to master any longer, his booted feet were silent in their faltering steps. In a haze he walked, driven beyond will. He went to the lake, closer. To her.

"Saelind." His voice came foreign to his ears.

The woman did not stir. He heard her rushed heartbeat, throbbing on weak wings.

He waited.

Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh, white mist against the cold dark.

One step and then another. Every seam and recess of his being warned for a retreat.

"I have been pondering," Andreth began, her gaze tipped to the stars.

Aegnor looked to the lake, where the same stars shone in a shivering black mirror.

"...on how your kind see us, so brittle and brief compared to you. Despite this, friendship blooms between our kindreds, fading though it is," she said sadly unto the moonless skies. "But nothing more."

"Not once have I thought you brittle," the words spilled from him. He reached for her arm.

Andreth closed her eyes. He was there, alive and near. This was different from all her foolish illusions. But the pressure of light fingers to her sides was real, as was the warmth adding to hers. "Will you deny the pity you so openly bestow upon us?" she spoke, eyes unfocused to her left. He felt nearer still, the slow shift a torment. But she had not known peace, not since that day. Steel-clad arms wound around her, harsh and cold, commanding her into him.

The Elf ached at her words, for they were bitter and regretful, and infused with the hurt of one wronged. He had never meant to wrong her, anymore than he had meant to love her. But were he to speak of his affection, it would only wrong her further. "I never pitied you," he spoke against her neck. "Never, Saelind."

Andreth tilted her head to his. It was all so new and strong and overwhelming, the warmth of his cheek upon hers. His skin was nothing she would ever feel again, this she knew. And he was ever closer, his arms now impossibly tight around her, the plate armor digging into her flesh. They should not be here, like this. She knew. And found she did not care.

She tried to understand why it was to be this way. The reasons against them she had accepted with the brevity of one doomed, all the while having to look into his eyes, to see the opposite meaning to his words.

And now, despite this understanding here they were, and Andreth could cast him away no more than he could leave her be. It was that which allowed the Elf to turn her so she faced him. His eyes were dark and starlit like the waters, his features bright in the depth of night.

"If it were my choice, I would take you to be mine. We would flee this place."

The possessive flicker in his words both frightened her and drew her closer.

His forehead rested against hers. "I cannot." He met her eyes again, cowed by her strength and patience. He cupped her face with his palms, saw her lower lip quivering. Met with no resistance and lost in his thirst, he pressed his lips lightly to her cheek.

Her breathing nearly ceased. Andreth found her knees were failing and so leaned into the Elf, feeling irate and miserable and elated all at once.

He tasted her skin, licked a light trail along her jaw, suckled at the corner of her lips; and beyond reason as he was, the Elf felt her tense, and somewhere in him there was a dark and selfish shiver.

For many moments, Andreth neither returned the kiss, nor did she shun him. But then he felt her falling, following him faithfully and just as eager.

The scent she had only dreamed of now dazed the young woman into a powerful haze akin to a spell, and somehow the lake was no more. The dark canopy of endless trees was no more, and Andreth came to know only him. Her arm reached around his neck as his lips opened against hers, and a new world was made known to her.

He was of silk, of searing wonder; all she would never have. A sliver of resent and hurt coiled within her, but his pull was stronger. He was kindling a new, simmering flame, igniting her with nary a touch. He felt so very good, and now Andreth saw he tasted better, and she became a flaming pyre in his arms. She knew his grief, felt his chest nestling her, how her own hands clutched at him, so wanton and feverish, never to release. But she must.

Slowly, she severed the kiss, drawing back in the hardest trial she would remember in the after days. She watched his parted lips, then met his eyes, drinking in the vision she would keep close to the end.

And Aegnor the steadfast, whose eyes they say burned with flames of wrath in the midst of battle, fell to his knees before young Andreth of the kindred of Men. His arms never left her, and his hands were hopelessly clasping her body, his head bowed against her middle.

Slight fingers twined in his hair, and the Elf sighed in guilt for what he had begun.

"I do not want to cause you pain," he spoke into her. "Forgive me, Saelind."

She cradled his head to her while all still spun about her, and the world faded with his closeness; silence drowned in the rise and fall of his chest.

"I forgive you, for you are no guiltier than I."

Then gently she pried herself from him, and he let her, his hands falling to his sides.

As she walked away, the Elf stayed behind. Duty was a heavy chain, and it was strung in endless knots around his feet. War knew no marriage among the Eldar, as death knew no master. And these were not times for love.

"Why tonight, of all nights? Why did you turn, Saelind?" he found his words, and the strength to ask before she went too far.

Andreth ceased in her steps, and with her back to him, a saddened smile lay hidden.

"You never came to me yourself, and on the morrow, you are gone."

Fingers digging into his palms, his resolution crumbled to dust. There came the urge to seek her anew, to throw all this to the wind. But then, she spoke.

"What I feel will never wither as I would. And I grieve for being denied. But... but never doubt the wisdom of your choice. I cannot resent you, though this feels like punishment and seems born of pride. Farewell, Aegnor of the Eldar. I will wait for you, but I know not where."

Daggers were her footsteps receding in the dark.

"So will I," the words withered in the gloom, cut by anguish and need. But he was weak, and afraid of his own heart more than the Edain feared death, and so he kept still as a stone on the floors of boundless seas. The earth was cold beneath his feet, and the deeps of the night witnessed his tears in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> "Saelind" = "Wise-heart", the name given to Andreth by the Eldar


End file.
